


We've Got Tonight...Can I Have Tomorrow, Too?

by CrowningGlory



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-05-30 03:06:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6406216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowningGlory/pseuds/CrowningGlory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Darcy hook up in New Mexico.  Clint starts to hope for something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this doesn't really have a plot, it's just a bit of morning-after fluff because I love Clint/Darcy. Enjoy!

It was hot.  And bright.  Clint could see the light shining through the window already, eliminating any possibility of further sleep.  Stupid crappy motel with its cheap, thin curtains.  Still, he wasn’t expected to report in today, so he was damn well going to enjoy every second of rest he could get.  He wriggled a little further down the pillows, but stilled as the movement prompted a sleepy, unhappy sound from the head resting on his chest.  Looking down at the woman in his arms, he took her in for a few moments, pushing each of his senses to the limit until he was hyper-aware of her.  He made careful note of every point where her skin came into contact with his own and of the way her hair tickled across his chest as they breathed together.  Inhaling deeply, he tried to identify the fading smell of her shampoo – something fruity, he thought, but he couldn’t tell exactly what.  Giving that up, he listened to the quiet noises she made in the back of her throat as she settled back down, sinking deeper into sleep.  His eyes ran over her, drinking in every millimetre of exposed flesh, the gentle curl of her dark hair, the slight flutter of her eyelids in sleep.  He smiled at the memories that surfaced as his gaze fell on her full lips, usually painted red, but now rosy for an entirely different reason, any remnant of lipstick having long been kissed away.  One hand came up involuntarily to trace the curve of her lower lip, but he stopped himself just in time.  The risk of her waking up and moving was too high, and the prospect of even an inch of her skin being removed from his was suddenly terrifying.

This was stupid.  He knew better than to get involved with civilians he was assigned to tail, even if only in a one-night stand – which was surely what she had been looking for.  Watching a giant killer robot tear through buildings like paper would be enough to drive even the most strong-minded of interns to life-affirming sex with a “jackbooted thug/iPod thief”.  And he shouldn’t _want_ any more.  He shouldn’t want to take her to the one decent café in this tiny town and watch her eyes come to life as she inhaled caffeine, shouldn’t want to see her outside of New Mexico, shouldn’t want to ask her for her number, beg her to let him call every night just to hear the sound of her voice.

He should never even have spoken to her in the bar.  But he didn’t, not really – _she_ had approached _him_.  It was a weak excuse, and he knew it.  Watching her sashay towards him, untouched drink in hand, he’d had a flashback to the glimpses he’d caught of her during the attack, the open terror she hadn't bothered to hide at complete odds with her actions, ushering locals out of the path of the Destroyer, away from collapsing buildings, even running into the pet shop to rescue as many animals as she could before even she had to accept there was nothing more she could do.  He’d felt sorry for her then, the young PoliSci major caught up in events she couldn’t hope to control, and crushed because she couldn’t save a few hamsters.  How could she ever survive in this new world of aliens and Destroyers, when the deaths of rodents weighed so heavily on her mind?  But as she reached him, setting her glass down on the bar next to him, jutting one hip out and tilting her head to look up at him, pity had quickly been replaced with a rush of attraction so strong he knew that resistance would be futile, even before she had opened her mouth.  He saw her red-stained lips, curving upwards in a smirk full of intent, her glittering blue eyes, and the lingering tremors in her fingers that she couldn’t quite conceal, and he was gone.

And it hadn't just been sex, oh no.  Not that the sex hadn't been _fantastic_ , but… he’d told her things.  Not classified things, of course, he would never do that, and he knew, with absolute certainty, that she would never ask.  But he’d told her about himself.  In the bar, in the street during their slow, unhurried walk back to his motel, in his bed, he’d spilled stories of his childhood, the people he’d known, his pride and his doubts about his job – he’d opened up to her in a way he’d never done with anyone, not even Phil or Natasha.  He knew he should be horrified with himself; such blatant honesty was a terrible idea for an assassin working for a super-covert alphabet agency, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.  She’d listened without judgement or comment, without asking questions, and then in the shower she’d responded in kind, telling him about her parents and her home, about growing up with three older brothers, about her degree and how it was pure chance that she’d found herself out here, with Jane and Erik and Thor when the Destroyer hit…

Her voice trembled then, and he’d held her close under the spray while she purged the fear and the horror and the tension from her system, but he could tell that the desert sand had already settled deep under her skin, that there would be no washing the dust of New Mexico from her body.

He turned his head to look at the window again, at the sunlight growing stronger by the minute, warming the room.  The weather had been bordering on stifling lately, and apparently today was going to be no exception.  He thought maybe that was what woke her, as she blinked groggily up at him.  He tensed, fearing the moment she would pull away, but she didn’t.  She seemed to sense what he was thinking though, with an uncanny intuition she’d been displaying since last night.  It really should have worried him more than it did, but as she deliberately relaxed against him and rubbed a soothing hand over his arm, he couldn’t bring himself to think of it as anything other than a blessing.

“Time’s it?” she murmured with a sleepy smile.

“Early.  Too early.  Go back to sleep.”  He didn’t know what time it really was, but he didn’t want her to get up.

“Uh-uh.  Too hot to sleep.”  Still, she didn’t move, and he knew the heat was getting to her from the glazed look in her eyes and the tiny drops of sweat forming on her forehead.  The temperature and her body pressed against his were making it harder to breathe, but he was far more likely to suffocate if he let go, if he couldn’t feel her weight in his arms.

“Is Jane expecting you today?” he forced himself to ask, daring to hope she’d say no.

“Nah.  All that excitement was enough to tire even her out.  I fed her, made sure she showered, and put her in bed – she was out like a light the moment she lay down.  By the time she wakes up, she’ll be fully recharged.  I can let her science away on her own for the day without feeling too guilty about not keeping an eye on her.  She won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“So… you don’t have to be anywhere today?”

She shifted, folding her arms on his chest and laying her chin on her forearms, and fixed him with a dazzling smile.

“Nope.  I’m all yours, soldier.”

His heart stuttered at her words, and her smile widened to a grin.  _Of course_ she knew exactly what effect she was having on him.  Hope was beginning to bloom in his mind that maybe, just maybe, images of cafés and long, late-night phone calls were invading her thoughts, too.  Leaning up, she caught his lips in a slow, sweet kiss, and he decided not to quash his hope but let it grow.

_I’m all yours, soldier._

He tightened his arms around her waist and let himself believe it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint gets that coffee date he was so desperate for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't originally planning on writing a sequel to the first chapter - it was supposed to be a one-shot - but apparently I'm incapable of letting things go. Anyway, here's another chapter. This one's from Darcy's POV. I have a couple of ideas that might make it into a third and maybe fourth chapter, but I'm not sure yet. Enjoy!

Warm fingers reached out and brushed against Darcy’s as she strolled slowly down the street towards the café she and Clint had both agreed was their favourite in Puente Antiguo.  When she looked over at the spy/assassin (spyssassin?  Yeah, she was gonna go with spyssaassin) next to her in mild surprise, she found him staring straight ahead, hand already withdrawn and hanging slightly awkwardly at his side.  Despite the coffee date (and she was pretty sure it was a date, unless she was reading the signs _very_ wrong) being his idea, it was the first time he’d touched her since they’d left the motel.

She’d woken up that morning pressed on top of him and felt no inclination to move despite the heat; Clint’s smile and snark had been a much-needed comfort to her last night, and she felt perfectly safe and comfortable in his arms.  Which may have had a lot to do with his biceps.  She’d wondered briefly how she could be so impressed with Clint’s physique after having seen Thor shirtless, and finally put it down to the knowledge that while Thor was a god – alien – whatever, Clint was human.  He hadn't come by his abs without effort, and the mental image of him working out was indescribably hot.  Besides, when she’d woken up he’d given her a half-closed off, half-vulnerable look that had her wanting to make him smile again by any means necessary.  So she’d snuggled even closer and they’d lain in bed trading soft kisses, too warm and sleepy to do anything more.  At least, _she_ had been sleepy – she got the feeling Clint had been hyper-alert from the moment he woke up, but he’d been happy to let her doze, so she wasn’t complaining.  Eventually the temperature had gone from “just bearable” to “actually suffocating”, and Clint had tentatively mentioned that his favourite coffee shop had miraculously survived the big, flame-y battle, and that the air-conditioning might even still be working.  Her brain had gone through some sort of process that looked a bit like: _caffeine + air-con + Clint = perfection_ – and she’d been up and dragging him into the shower without a second thought.

He’d been kind of stiff and quiet since they’d set off though, and she would almost believe he was having second thoughts about the whole affair if it wasn’t for the fact that she was pretty sure he had just tried to hold her hand but changed his mind halfway through.  As a theory formed in her mind, she examined his face, and… yep, there was that look again.  Experimentally, she reached out and slipped her hand into his.  When his face relaxed in response, she folded her fingers more firmly with his and grinned as a relieved smile appeared on his lips.  _Mission accomplished._

They walked hand-in-hand the last few steps to the café and opened the door to the blessedly cool shop.  The doorway was small, and it was difficult to squeeze through, but Darcy didn’t let go, and neither did Clint.

 

Darcy eyed Clint with amusement as he gulped his coffee.

“You know,” she said in a conversational tone, “I had you pegged as one of those no-nonsense tough guys who works out and drinks his coffee black and… I dunno, chops his own firewood.”

Clint coughed a little at the last one and set his mug down with a gleam in his eye.  “No comment on the firewood.  But I _do_ work out.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, letting her eyes glaze over as a couple of more _memorable_ moments from last night returned, “I figured.”

A dazed look came over Clint’s face too for a couple of seconds before something registered.  “Hey!” he exclaimed, “I _am_ drinking black coffee!  Not like that flavoured, milky crap you’ve got.”  He had turned his nose up at her hazelnut latte when she had ordered it, and needled her about drinking _real_ coffee.

It was Darcy’s turn to choke a little on her drink.  “Clint, I just watched you empty _four sachets_ of sugar into your mug.  You _so_ don’t get to lecture me about ‘the real taste of coffee’.  Can’t handle the bitterness, huh?”

Clint ducked his head and she could have sworn she saw him flush a little (which was downright adorable) as he muttered something about “just preferring it sweet”.  The conversation turned to food and she quickly established he had a very sweet tooth, which was surprising until she thought back to some of the stuff he told her last night, and she realised that probably no one bought him treats as a child.  To keep him from seeing the expression on her face, she walked back over to the counter and examined the selection of pastries before she noticed the chocolate-covered strawberries at the back.

They were expensive, but seeing Clint’s eyes darken as she wrapped her lips around each one and licked her fingers when she was done made them worth every penny.  She reached out and captured one of his ankles between hers underneath the table.  They made it through a few more minutes of food-related conversation before she applied a little more pressure to his calf, while making a comment about whipped cream that had him enquiring in a choked-off voice whether a change of venue would suit her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read/commented on/kudos-ed the last chapter - this is the first fanfiction I've written, and posting it was surprisingly nerve-wracking, so your encouragement means a lot!


	3. Chapter 3

Clint couldn’t believe his luck.  A few hours ago, he’d been lying in bed, believing that Darcy would be up and out of the door the moment she woke up.  Now, he was back in that same bed, in the middle of the day, with Darcy happily curled into his side.  Or at least, she was lying on her side next to him, her hand on his arm and her knee pushing against his thigh.  The weather had reached scorching and unfortunately that was all the contact she could bear.  Clint would have been happy if she’d wrapped herself around him in Saharan temperatures, but since she had easily agreed to his coffee date and had so far shown no inclination to leave, the overwhelming need to have her as close as possible was becoming more manageable.

“I saw you during the attack, you know.”

It was the first time she’d spoken since they’d made it back to the motel (just in time, since he’d been moments away from doing something that would get them both arrested for public indecency, thanks to her teasing with the strawberries and more than a couple of absolutely _filthy_ kisses on the way back) and all he could manage was a stupid, “Huh?”

“During the attack.  I noticed you.”  She wrinkled her nose.  “I lost valuable running-away time thinking _is that a bow?  Holy shit, he’s firing honest-to-God arrows.  Is he crazy?_ ”

He couldn’t help it; he laughed.  Sure, a compound bow was an unusual choice of weapon, but the only people these days who called him crazy to his face were Natasha and Phil.  And sometimes Fury, when he deigned to speak to him directly.

“I don’t get it,” she continued, undeterred by his laughter.  “Why a bow?  Surely it’s not the most practical weapon?  A gun seems like a more…conventional choice.”  She flashed him a mischievous grin.  “Are you a rebel?  Is that it?  Did you miss your teenage rebellion so you’re having a S.H.I.E.L.D.-agent rebellion instead?  That’s it, isn't it?  You’re just trying to annoy Coulson.  I knew we were kindred spirits.”

A wide smile cracked his face open, and he hoped she’d interpret it as amusement rather than wild, untamed joy at her casual suggestion that they were so well-suited to each other.  He tried to respond without sounding like a dopey idiot.  “Well, first of all…I told you I grew up in the circus, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

He waited patiently for her to understand.  It didn’t take long.

“Oh!  _Oh!  That_ was your thing, your act?”  She sucked in one cheek in an effort to keep a straight face.  “Did you have to dress up as Cupid?  I bet you did.  I bet you were a cute kid and they made you be Cupid.”

Clint prided himself on having a good poker face – he was a goddamn spy, for fuck’s sake.  He’d been mocked many times in his life, but he couldn’t remember the last time – if ever – someone needled him so gently, meaning to tease, not to wound, and using details that were so… _personal._   Seriously, this girl threw him off balance – and he had good balance.  He was a carnie, after all.

So he couldn’t help it.  He blushed, and the red spread all the way down his chest.

“Oh my God!  I’m right, aren’t I?” she crowed, and then proceeded to giggle and giggle and _giggle._

He could have listened for hours.

“Ok, so secondly?” she asked when she had got her breathing under control.

“What?”  Such eloquence.  He was lucky she didn’t seem to mind how monosyllabic he’d become since meeting her.

“You said ‘first of all’.  So there’s another reason you use a bow.  What is it?”

“Oh.  Well, arrows are pretty much silent, and they cause less… mess.”  He waited for her to pull away, to look at him in disgust, but when he risked a glance down she was looking at him with sympathy in her eyes.  Which he appreciated, but… he wanted to see her smile again.  So he moved onto something he knew would make her laugh.  “And then there’s the fact that I can use trick arrows.”

“Trick arrows?”  She was nonplussed.

“Yeah.”  He struggled to keep his expression dead serious – not usually a problem for him, but anticipating her reaction made it difficult to keep a straight face.  “All different kinds.  The net arrow, the cable arrow, the electro arrow…”  He bit back a snort as she frowned, trying to figure out if he was pulling her leg.  “And my personal favourite… the splodie-arrow.”

That did it.  She pushed herself up so that she was leaning over him, face directly above his, hands braced either side of his neck.  She stared at him long enough to make him uncomfortable, and he could see her piecing together information in her mind.  Finally, she seemed to come to a conclusion, and, although he couldn’t fathom why, the next words out of her mouth made him absurdly happy.

“Clint Barton, you are a _dork_.”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

“Soooo… back to the kiddie-you-dressed-as-Cupid thing –”

“Let’s not revisit that.”

“ _Please_ tell me there are photos.”

“That’s classified.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puente Antiguo starts to rebuild. Clint and Darcy deal with the aftermath of the attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while since I updated this. Not a very long chapter, but more will follow. I have an idea where I want to go with this fic, and I'm not done with it yet!

Puente Antiguo was a mess.

Thanks to the combined efforts of the Destroyer and several preternaturally strong Norse gods, most of the buildings on the main street had been reduced to rubble, and several others were severely damaged.  Architects and engineers swarmed over the half-demolished shops and apartment buildings, determining which were structurally sound, and which needed to be torn down completely and rebuilt.  The latter outnumbered the former.

Before any reconstruction could start, though, there was the small matter of the heaps of broken brick walls, smashed glass, torn streetlamps and fallen shop signs littering the roads.  A professional crew had been called in to clear the detritus, but the citizens of Puente Antiguo, few as they were, were keen to put the whole issue behind them and get their town back to looking like, well, a town.  It currently resembled a bomb’s blast radius.  So, under the leadership of the professionals, most of the able-bodied civilians were turning out daily to help clear the streets.

Darcy, somewhere in between lamenting its lack of decent bars and ushering citizens and puppies out of the danger zone, had grown fond of the little town – although she was initially loathe to admit it.

It was her new-found affection for Puente Antiguo that had her, the day after her not-so-one-night stand with Clint, out on Main Street, letting herself be yelled at by a burly man in a hard hat and high-vis jacket.  He was large, more fat than muscle, and his features almost disappeared behind his permanent scowl and rough beard.  She had yet to learn his name, but he was making her seriously regret her decision to help.  Weirdly, his belligerence wasn’t putting the Puente Antiguans off – after the past few days, most seemed to have decided they were made of sturdy stuff.  And from the way they eyed Burly, then shared looks of disdain, Darcy figured they were taking his shouting as one more thing to bring them all together.

Nothing like a flaming death robot followed by a bully to create a sense of community.

As Darcy hefted a piece of twisted metal that might once have been a hardware store sign, distorted by fire and dented, she caught sight of a splotch of red at one end and fought a wave of dizziness.  She wasn’t quite successful and the metal slipped from her grasp.  It would have landed on her feet had she not already been stumbling backwards.  Just before the vertigo toppled her, large hands closed around her upper arms, steadying her.

Darcy closed her eyes for a moment, smiling, enjoying the warmth of the fingers despite the blistering sun.  She knew those hands.

Without moving away, she turned to beam up at Clint.  He was looking down at her with a slightly uncertain smile on his face, which grew more relaxed when she reached up and rested her hands on the back of his neck and drew his head down to hers.  She paused for a second, their foreheads touching, then pressed her lips to his and kissed him hard.

Clint responded enthusiastically, and she found herself quickly losing control of the kiss as his tongue met hers.  She melted against him with a moan she couldn’t quite stifle.  Eventually, it was the lack of air, not the wolf-whistles she could vaguely hear behind her, that forced her to break the kiss.  She didn’t pull away, preferring to remain in the solid circle of his arms.

“I guess I don’t need to ask if you’re pleased to see me,” Clint huffed.  Darcy was distinctly proud to hear him sounding as out of breath as she felt.

“Likewise,” she said, unable to resist jerking her pelvis forward against him.  He yanked his hips away from her with a slightly strangled gasp and she sniggered.

“There’s a small, rational part of my brain reminding me there’s work to be done,” he growled, the sound igniting a fire in her belly, “but if you make my IQ drop any lower, there’ll be nothing keeping me from dragging you back to my motel room, so I need you to behave, sweetheart.”

_Sweetheart._   That, more than anything, made her heart stutter, and she looked at him with wide, lust-filled eyes, trying to remember why she was out here in the sun and the rubble and not in bed with him.

“Oooohhh, no,” Clint said, shaking his head.  “No, no no no no.  Don’t give me those eyes.  Hanging on to the vestiges of my self-control, here.”

Darcy didn’t see the downside to Clint giving in to his impulses – it had worked out so well for them the past couple of days, after all, and tried to make her eyes even rounder.  Clint, obviously casting about for some sort of distraction (but still not letting go of her waist, she noticed, for all his talk), spotted the piece of metal she had dropped moment ago.

“You’re helping with the clean-up?”

“Yeah,” she said, shooting for nonchalant and falling short.  He peered at her, and she blushed.  A grin took over his face and she looked away, going redder.  She’d spent quite a bit of their time together complaining about how one-horse, small, boring and backward Puente Antiguo was, and she could feel all of those adjectives coming back to bite her in the ass now.

“Awww,” he snickered, “look at that.  You’ve grown attached.  You’re soft-hearted, Darcy Lewis.”

His voice had taken on a warm timbre at the end, and she was now flushing for a different reason.

“What can I say,” she replied, clearing her throat, trying to wrest back control of the conversation, “this town has a coffee shop I'm particularly fond of.  Their chocolate-covered strawberries are _exquisite._ ”

Clint’s eyes flicked to the left and the tips of his ears reddened ever so slightly.  He’d done the same thing when she’d needled him about his Cupid costume in his circus days, and she figured it was his version of a blush.  She did a mental fist-pump.

“Anyway,” Clint said hurriedly before she could tease him further, “are you ok?”

“Huh?”

He nodded downwards to where his arms still encircled her waist, and she remembered him having to catch her minutes earlier.  She sobered.

“Yeah, I'm fine.  I was just…”  Finally – and reluctantly – pulling away from him, she caught his hand and led him over to where the metal sign had fallen and gestured wordlessly at the crimson stain.  Clint understood instantly, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Oh, Darce…”

“I’m ok.”  Darcy sucked in a shaky breath.  She’d been holding it together pretty well, other than the brief wave of nausea, but his warmth settled around her like a blanket and she had to fight the urge to bury her face in his chest and cry.  “I’m just glad S.H.I.E.L.D. removed the bodies before we started clearing.”

“But?”

Darcy smiled slightly.  He had her pretty well figured out already.  “But I see things like that –” she jerked her head at the bloodstain, “– and I remember, there are still people missing, right?  So what if they’re…”

“You’re worried about turning up a corpse.”

“Or two.  I might scream like a maid in a Poirot,” she said with a weak grin, trying to bring back some levity, “and that wouldn’t be pretty.  Shrieking and running doesn’t suit me.”

Clint gazed down at her, something unidentifiable in his eyes.  “No, it really doesn’t,” he murmured.

Darcy got the feeling he’d just paid her a high compliment, and felt her face going red again.  But she much preferred making _him_ blush, and his face was _right there_ …

Clint made a brief, startled noise as she pressed her lips to his again, but wrapped himself eagerly around her, causing the cat-calls and shouts of “get a room!” to start up again.  Darcy couldn’t help but smile against his mouth as he held her tighter.

_Tables turned._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Clint assist in the clean-up of Puente Antiguo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while since I last updated this. Updates on this fic probably won't be very frequent, because my main focus is on Commando at the moment, and I just started a new fic, These Songs Saved My Life. Also, I have two other fics in the works that may never see the light of day at this rate. Anyway, this story is not dead, and will be completed at some point, but for now, here's chapter 5!

Clint joined Darcy in the clean-up effort, mostly because after the kiss she had just given him, he couldn’t bear the thought of letting her out of his sight.  He was also a little worried about her: thoughts of the people killed and injured by the Destroyer were obviously upsetting her more than she was willing to let on.  He didn’t think it was very likely that she would discover a body in the rubble, but he didn’t want to leave her alone just in case.  She was clearly determined to help, and he had no desire to try and persuade her to go back to Jane.  Partly because he knew he’d lose that argument, but mostly because he admired her attitude.  He already knew she was brave – she’d proved that during the battle – but even after all the lives she’d saved, she’d decided her part in this wasn’t done, and here she was, with the locals, helping to rebuild a town she claimed to hate.  Obviously, she was still distressed by her experience a few days ago, but she wasn’t letting it slow her down.  He had to admire her spirit.  And he’d much rather admire it from up close.

Besides, she didn’t look very strong, and he didn’t want her to hurt herself.

So he lifted and carried and pushed and pulled, enjoying the feeling of Darcy’s gaze on his arms.  He had impressive biceps, he was well aware.  It wasn’t vanity – well, only a little.  The reality of his work demanded he stay in shape, and drawing a bow took a lot of raw power, especially to get the range his superiors expected from him.  Still, he’d never been so grateful to his job as he was now, with Darcy’s eyes tracking his movements appreciatively, and – _did she just lick her lips?_

He turned his head to meet her stare head-on, and a mischievous smile twisted her mouth.  _Yep.  She’s shameless._   Those gorgeous blue eyes very deliberately travelled up and down his body, and her expression morphed into a full-blown smirk.

_Who am I kidding.  I love it._

He wanted to say something flirty in retaliation, but ever since their little display – which he was pretty sure they had failed to keep PG – the locals kept giving them vaguely fond but suspicious looks, so he reined it in.  Instead he asked after Jane.

“She’s holed herself up in the lab.  I thought she was obsessive before – turns out, I hadn't seen nothin’.  I know for a fact she’s missing Thor, but it’s like she thinks if she works enough, she won’t have any time to mope.”  Darcy paused in the middle of rolling a large slab of wood that had come from God-knows-where.  “Huh.  Actually, that makes perfect sense.”

“You don’t have to go help her?”  Clint wanted to kick himself for how desperately he wanted her answer to be _no_.  He felt like a little kid, wanting just a few more minutes of playtime before everyone had to go home.

“No,” Darcy said, and Clint smothered a goofy smile.  From the smirk she gave him, he didn’t think he had been successful.  “I fed her and gave her caffeine this morning, but there’s really nothing useful I can do right now.  I’ll check in on her later, make sure she eats some lunch.  Really, though, I doubt she even notices I’m not there.”

“So you’re free to work out here.  All day.  In the burning sun.”

“Oh God.”  The face she made was one of pure horror.  “I may not have thought this through.”

He laughed, but he hoped she was wearing lots of sunscreen.  She really was very pale.  “I guess I can safely assume we won’t be seeing Dr Foster out here at all?”

“Hell, no.  Physical labour is so not her thing.  I mean, have you _seen_ the woman?  She’s _tiny_.”  Darcy emphasised her last point with a thumb and forefinger held up in front of her face, and Clint refrained, with difficulty, from pointing out Darcy’s own short stature.  “Although,” she mused, “she can move her equipment pretty much by herself, and some of that stuff is seriously heavy.  But I suspect that might be more like how mothers can lift wrecked cars off their children.  Her spectrometer is her baby.”

He laughed again, and their conversation was interrupted for a few minutes while they joined forces with three Puente Antiguans to lift a particularly stubborn bit of wall.  At least, he thought it was part of a wall.  It was getting hard to tell.

“So what about you?” Darcy asked as they stood and admired their handiwork.  “S.H.I.E.L.D. ok with you playing hooky to muck around in the dirt with us civilians?”  Her eyebrow was raised in its usual, teasing arch, but there was a tension in her brow and he got the feeling she was asking about more than just the clean-up effort.

He shrugged.  “They’ll call me if they need me.  There’s a lot of waiting around and doing nothing in my job.  At some point they’ll decide I'm needed elsewhere, but until then, I’m free to do whatever I want.”  He looked her in the eye, willing her to focus on the last part, not the bit where he could be called away at any moment.  Her jaw tensed slightly, and if he hadn't been a trained professional, he probably wouldn’t have noticed it.  But then her sunny smile returned, and they got back to work.

They really did work all day.  Regular breaks were mandatory for everyone, and a sweet old lady, in consternation over being told she couldn’t join in, had taken it upon herself to provide cookies and honest-to-God homemade lemonade.

Darcy had to disappear in the afternoon to ensure Jane’s continued survival.  Clint felt her absence like a needle in his side, but when she returned she made up for it by dragging him off to the café so they could have a late lunch together.  By the end of the day, he and Darcy had a good rapport going with several of the locals, and the volunteers had naturally shifted into teams of five or six people to deal with the heavier debris.

As the sun began to set, Clint turned to Darcy, planning to persuade her to spend another night in his motel room, but stopped when he saw her moving awkwardly and wincing.

“Darcy?  What –”  He reached out towards her, but withdrew his hand quickly when he realised her skin was rapidly turning an angry red.  “You’re covered in sunburn!  Didn’t you wear –”

“I _did_!” she cried indignantly.  “I put it on… oh, fuck.”  She slapped a palm to her forehead, but withdrew it quickly with a hiss.  “I applied sunscreen this morning, but I forgot to re-apply it in the afternoon.  Damn Jane and her crappy handwriting.  It took me three times as long as it should have to do that data entry.  I was in a hurry to get back here, and it completely slipped my mind…”

Her words were harsh, but Clint could tell she was more irritated at herself than her boss.  With some effort, he focused on her current pain rather than the warmth in his chest.  _She was hurrying to get back.  To me.  Ok, and the work, too, but – me!_

Darcy was looking down at herself in absolute misery, so Clint pushed those thoughts aside and held his hand out to her.  She was hurting.  That had to be dealt with immediately.

“C’mon.  You’re lucky I've spent more time in deserts than I can count.  I’ve had my fair share of sunburn.”  He tilted his head to the side, considering.  “You’re staying in an apartment with Jane, right?  Do you have a bath?”

She took his hand.  “Yeah, a shower bath.  Why?”

On the way to her apartment, they stopped by the grocery store and the drugstore, and Clint breathed a sigh of relief when he found the supplies he needed.  Once home, she led the way into the bathroom and he turned on the taps on the bath, creating a pool of lukewarm water.  Turning his attention back to Darcy, he helped her out of her clothes, gingerly peeling her blouse down her arms, making as little contact with her skin as possible.  She still scrunched up her eyes and suppressed a whimper.

“Almost there, sweetheart,” he murmured soothingly.

He’d managed to locate apple cider vinegar at the store, and he poured a little into the bath and swirled it around.  Darcy eyed the tub with suspicion.

“Is this really gonna work?”

“Trust me, Darce.  I’ve done this before.  Works every time.”

She shrugged.  “Ok, then.”  His heart stuttered pleasantly at her faith in him.  She lowered herself into the water slowly, wincing, and leant back.  She heaved a big sigh and let her eyes fall closed.  “Oh… wow, that does feel better…”

Clint smirked and sat down next to the bath, propping his arm on the porcelain.  “Right?”

He let her soak for about fifteen minutes before draining the water and pulling her out, despite her protestations.  He wrapped her gently in a towel and padded her dry rather than rubbing on her sore skin.  She stared up at him while he did it, a mess of chestnut curls and big eyes like sapphires poking adorably over the top of the fluffy white towel, threatening to distract him from the task at hand.  Flipping the lid down on the toilet, he manoeuvred her to sit on top of it and knelt in front of her.  He produced the aloe vera gel he sourced from the drugstore, and began to rub it softly into her skin.

Once he’d finished, he looked up at her with a smile, and found her giving him that look again, like she wanted to say something but she wasn’t sure what.  He let her direct him to her room and show him where she kept her pyjamas, and he eased her into them.  Her bed was a small double, covered in a lightweight purple duvet, which made him grin.  Purple was one of his favourite colours.

He pulled back the duvet and patted the mattress.  “Come on.  You're exhausted.”

It was true; she was starting to sway on her feet.  It didn’t take a genius to guess she wasn’t used to manual labour.  Still, she stayed standing where she was, poised to lie down on the bed or turn and walk out the door, he wasn’t sure which.  Her arms stuck out awkwardly from her sides, and she bounced on the ball of her feet a little.

“What’s wrong?”

She chewed on her bottom lip, giving him a strong urge to chew it for her.  “You don’t have to do all this, you know.”

That gave him pause.  He hadn't really thought about it.  He’d just seen that she was in pain, and wanted to make it go away.  So he told her that.

He was rewarded with the cutest blush, a quirk of her lips, and her crawling onto her bed and lying down.  He arranged the duvet carefully on top of her.  She gazed up at him, and he could tell she was about to say something unnecessary again.

Sure enough, “I'm sorry,” came out of her mouth.

Clint laughed a little.  “For what?”

Darcy managed a self-deprecating smirk-grimace.  “I know a sunburnt Darcy isn't a sexy Darcy.”

Clint stroked her hair, fondness welling up in his chest.  He was already so far past that mattering.  “Every Darcy is a sexy Darcy,” he assured her, and it sounded soppy even to his own ears.  The scary thing was, he really meant it.  Even like this, she was irresistible, with her soft hair and her kissable lips.

Either way, it got a giggle out of her, so he counted it as a win.  “Liar,” she accused.

“Shut up and let me take care of you, sweetheart,” he replied with a roll of his eyes.

A few minutes later he was sitting with his back against her headboard, running his fingers through her hair, reading the first Harry Potter book to her and thinking how much Natasha would laugh at him if she could see him right now.  But Darcy rubbed her nose into his hip, her eyes closing sleepily, and he couldn’t bring himself to care.

After a while, he figured she was asleep, or at least mostly, and moved to extricate himself from her.  Her fingers wrapped into his waistband, tugging him back down again.  Not so asleep after all, then.

“Where d’you think you're goin’, mister?” she grumbled tiredly.

His breath caught, and after a moment’s hesitation, he set the book down on the dresser, and arranged himself on his back on top of her duvet.  Darcy shuffled slightly, her fingers curling around his bicep and her nose nudging into his shoulder.

Clint sighed contentedly, closed his eyes and let himself drift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to say that I have no idea whether vinegar and aloe vera actually work as sunburn remedies. The internet seems to think they do, but I've never tried them. I live in dreary England, where we get so little sun it's never a problem. Wear sunscreen, people.


End file.
